


Christmas Again

by Kestrel337



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, not season three compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:31:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrel337/pseuds/Kestrel337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Hudson smuggled in some mistletoe. There are developments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Again

**Author's Note:**

> All standard disclaimers apply.  
> Written for StatisticallyMoreLikely as part of the tumblr Sherlock Secret Santa exchange.

Christmas again. Fairy lights on the mantel, a wreath on the door. Mrs. Hudson requesting the old standards and John handing round drinks. But this year Sherlock wasn’t as aloof, didn’t disparage the joyful exchange of greetings, didn’t speak out of turn and spill secrets. Of course he saw them, he could hardly not. Perhaps it was that having his own secret had taught him discretion, or maybe finding contentment had made him less resentful and prickly when faced with the happiness of others.

John came over and set a glass of scotch before him. The distance between their bodies was carefully calibrated to fit the conventions of friendship, their glances not holding or heating or in any way betraying the change in their status. There had been a time when nothing John said would dissuade those around them from speculating on the nature of their relationship. Sherlock himself had begun to contemplate the potentials that spun out from their every conversation, every innocent touch. But that had been before the world fell apart. Before two years away. Six months ago he’d never have believed things could turn in the direction they had. But then the case, the curse, the kiss. And now a romance that, even in its infancy, was as solid and real and vital as nothing that had come before.

The party rolled on. Molly showed off the engagement ring Greg had offered her a week previous. Greg and John took a few moments in the kitchen for a ‘quick word’ and emerged smiling and clapping each other on the back, the question of Best Man settled. Someone turned on the radio, and the conversation drifted merrily from one topic to another. Mrs. Hudson made a game of capturing Greg and Molly together beneath the mistletoe she’d smuggled in and tacked up in the kitchen archway. Mike Stamford arrived late, an unlikely butterfly flitting from one gathering to another, his good natured company much in demand.

John picked up the empty snack bowl just as Mike answered Sherlock’s offer of libation; the flatmates met in the kitchen doorway, smiling and dancing awkwardly as each sought to give way to the other. John made the mistake of glancing up, or perhaps it was Sherlock who made the mistake of glancing down. However it came to be, their eyes met and held for a long moment. John raised his chin, rolled his eyes dramatically upward to indicate Mrs. Hudson’s trap. “Mistletoe.”

Sherlock quirked a questioning look at his friend, his blogger, his partner in all things.

John nodded once, serious as ever, then cupped Sherlock’s cheek in his palm. He stretched up, Sherlock leaned down. Their mouths came together slowly, lingeringly, parted and joined again. They broke apart when Molly and Mrs. Hudson began giggling; Lestrade was holding up a paper napkin upon which he’d hastily scribbled a score of seven.

“That’s what starts rumors, you know,” Stamford reminded them.

Sherlock shared a private look with John. “He’s right. People will talk.”

John returned the look, shaking his head slightly. “People do little else.” Their foreheads bumped together as they giggled, kissed again, and turned to accept the delighted applause of their friends.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't hate Mary Morstan. I shouldn't have to say that, because fanfic is in a separate part of my head than the actual program. But I sort of feel like I do, so...I said it.


End file.
